River's Doctor
by LittlePageAndBird
Summary: River falls right into his life again without warning; fresh from Berlin and more lost than he's ever seen her. After a millennium the Doctor discovers that their story is far from over, and there are things he's yet to learn about her as their timelines coalesce once again. When she appears to seek out his latest incarnation, he realises that he's only now becoming her Doctor.
1. Prologue: Hair Like Yours

**_Disclaimer: If anything in the Whoniverse belonged to me, I really wouldn't know what to do with myself and frankly River's character would be just dangerous in my hands. So I own nothing!_**

**Prologue: a flashback to one of the (eleventh) Doctor's many dates with River, during which she lets something slip... **

* * *

_He feels awful. Not just because his favourite bow tie is now so waterlogged that it droops miserably at the edges and is most probably ruined, although admittedly he is somewhat upset about that._

_Apologising profusely as he fluffs River's sodden curls with a soft towel helps to relieve a portion of the guilt, but he's still terribly annoyed at himself. He's somebody's husband, for goodness' sake, and he still can't seem to make a date go to plan._

_He should have checked the weather forecast, really, but he was too busy sort of marvelling in the mere presence of his wife to find anything else remotely interesting. Imagining he'd receive at the very least a severe eye roll for confessing such a thing, he goes on expressing his regret as he squeezes the water out of her hair, mumbling that he should have done environment checks and it was his fault that her hair was ruined, as well as her make-up and outfit. Her brand new dress is currently drying on the radiator- she'd borrowed a pair of blue pyjamas that were supposed to belong to him, without asking, but he wasn't going to protest when she looked all snug in them like that… _

_Dragging his eyes back to her hair, he clears his throat and his shoulders sag as he moans about what was intended to be a romantic picnic being ruined and why couldn't he have just picked a sunny day and after a thousand years he still can't get it right and-_

_His wrists still as River's slender fingers wrap around them, stopping his bumbling apologies mid-flow with the electric shiver that any amount of physical contact with her could cause to pulse through him. She smiles gently, knowingly, lowering his hands from her hair._

_"__Sweetie, you really have got to stop apologising for the elements." His wife flicks her hair, very deliberately sending water droplets careening into his face. She revels in watching him splutter; smirking wickedly when he scrubs his cheeks dry and scowls at her. "It's just rain."_

_His eyes wander after her as she shimmies further up the mattress until she's far enough to flop back onto the pillows, laying there in lazy bliss for a few moments before she wriggles under the plush golden covers._

_She pulls them right up to her chin, purring like a contented cat when the warmth spreads to her toes. Her still-damp hair tapers off into springy fluff at the ends from the towel, and when she closes her eyes it's all he can do not to pepper kisses to her eyelids, her flushed cheeks and the slightly upturned corners of her soft lips._

_Instead, he earns every one of the baby giraffe comparisons as he drapes the towel over the end bedpost and clambers after her, the mattress dipping under his ungainly knees and elbows until he all but flops into the space next to her, staying above the covers out of necessity more than anything else as River has tucked them around herself deftly in a silky cocoon._

_Both on their backs residing in comfortable silence, he brings his hand to float up between them until one of her unruly curls tangles happily around his fingers._

_She gives him a sleepy, husky sort of hum, responding in the same way when he murmurs her name pensively._

_"__Your hair is extraordinary."_

_He hears the covers rustle as she takes delight in curving against him, already dozing off- he knows because if she really had her wits about her then she'd currently be halfway through a suggestive comment that was making his ears burn, or teasing him about the oh so many times he had complimented her corkscrews. Just yesterday they'd been wonderful and exquisite and incredible within the space of an hour, before she'd laughed and told him to shut up._

_He really does like it when she just accepts his compliments. Just accepts that he's completely and irrevocably mad on her._

_His eyes cross, examining the damp lump of chocolate hair strewn between his eyes, and he sighs at it. "I wish I had hair like yours," he admits, sounding like a petulant child wishing for Christmas Day to come. "All gold and curly and… beautiful."_

_Perhaps it's because she's right on the edge of peaceful sleep that she lets it slip. _

_"__Don't worry, sweetie, you will one day. But I'm afraid you'll have to settle for silver."_

_His barely-there eyebrows dip. He flips onto his stomach to peer into her now open and devilishly glinting eyes searchingly, as if he's ever been able to find answers there. "What? What do you mean?"_

_She throws him that impossibly sweet smile of hers. That ridiculous quiff is tickling her forehead, and she brushes it back before tracing her fingers lazily across his forehead. "Spoilers, my love."_

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**Thanks for reading, hope you enjoyed it! More to follow soon, following the (twelfth) Doctor as he loops back around his own timeline and finds himself falling for River all over again. x**


	2. Barefoot From Berlin

_**Thank you hugely to everyone who's already followed this. I hope I can satisfy you with this chapter. The (twelfth) Doctor and Clara are in the Tardis when an unexpected visitor suddenly bursts back into their lives... (no prizes for guessing who it is). **_

_**This particular one sets everything up and makes the following chapters possible, so apologies for the lengthiness. They won't all be this long. Promise. Enjoy! x**_

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Three knocks was all he received by way of warning.

"Clara, get that for me!"

The Doctor's voice was muffled, floating up from where he lay under the console with wires wrapped around his limbs. He was currently in the process of fixing something that he insisted was of unbelievable importance, though didn't exactly know what its function was.

Clara set her tea down, along with the spanner he'd instructed her to hold. "Do you even know where we are?"

A hand appeared from under the rotor to wave dismissively. "Oh, you know. Almost certainly somewhere relatively safe."

"Right. So you don't know."

"Look, the majority of places out in the Cosmos _are_ perfectly safe! We're just unlucky most of the time. Or we go looking for trouble."

"It's the second one," Clara assured him. Her eyes trailed over to the door, narrowing suspiciously. "It could be anything out there! What if it's something terrifying that wants to… destroy the world, and wants you out of the way first?"

"_Someone's_ clearly been here too long," he remarked wryly, rolling out from under the wires to throw her a withering look. "Clara. Because terrifying, world-destroying beings with murderous intentions…" He paused as the persistent rhythmic rapping rang out once again through the console room. "…Do not knock."

"Maybe it's a ruse!" she hissed.

"Yeah, give me a shout if it's someone important." He was under the console again before she could argue her case, so she advanced towards the door in tiny shuffles, eyebrows pinched together warily.

"Try to get there before they waste away."

"I'm _going_!" Hissing Scottish-related insults under her breath, she placed her hand over the door latch. "If I get killed in three seconds, I want my last words to go on record as: answer your own stupid door next time! I'm not your-"

Clara's sharp inhalation to replace the rest of her words was loud enough for it to float through to the Doctor, and in the dead silence that followed he began to wonder if she'd been right on her murder hunch after all.

He stilled his hands, listening for any indication of life. Then- "_Doctor_!"

Clara. Narrowly avoiding smacking his head against the console, he flipped onto his feet and scrambled to get the right way up.

"Yes- him, I need!"

That voice. His feet ground into the console floor, stopping dead.

Attempting frantically to rationalise the impossible in his head, he stood frozen and heard the awkwardly bizarre small-talk between Clara and the old voice as if it was floating up from underwater.

"You're _new_. Or are you?"

She sounded exactly as she had the last day, the first day, _every_ day. The voice that had soothed and reproached him, sent him to sleep, woken him in beautiful whispers. A shiver drained through his bones.

"Um, not really."

"Wrong order- lovely. Can't _wait_ for this to become a regular thing…"

"Doctor," Clara hissed with an edge more impatience, whipping her head back over her shoulder to shoot him a helpless look.

He heard her voice again. "Yes- I have bones to pick!"

She sounded angry- nothing new. Telling himself to push sentimentality to one side- an old procedure, given everything his first meeting with her had burdened him with- he allowed his feet to walk him to the door.

He sort of wished that he'd made the console room bigger; at least he would have had more time to prepare. Because in two staggering steps there she was, the same through new eyes. His River. With a face that could melt ice into fire and spin blood and bone into fragile cobwebs.

She was in a dishevelled ensemble consisting of a short black skirt, an oversized and creased white shirt with what looked like a hospital emblem printed on the breast pocket and no shoes. He felt Clara's eyes boring into him, glistening and anxious, and from somewhere felt a duty to remain strong.

It was a while before he managed to get a word in; nothing out of the ordinary and just as well, with the amount swimming restlessly in his head.

"Where the hell did you-? _Oh_."

River's eyes absorbed him, pinning him where he stood. Even after so very many years he knew in an instant; no blinding sparkle in her eyes to go with that smile, no rosy tint to her cheeks, no bounce in her hair. It wasn't as if the River in front of him simply didn't live up to his memories; he'd never had the need to rose-tint the vision of her in his head. It wasn't that. Something was wrong with her, and it was shocking how that realisation suddenly overrode everything else.

A smirk had crawled up her lips without him noticing; that classic smirk that only she could give. The very same that conveyed impossible things and stirred endless memories buried in his head. "Hello handsome. Now, _this_ face isn't in my log! I'll have to do something about that. God, you are pretty. I might have to paint you. Older, too! Men always get better with age; you're like fine wines. What happened?" She grinned devilishly. "Was it me?"

"Uh." His voice was hoarse; he swallowed a lump down forcefully, opening eyes that had flickered shut involuntarily and scornfully applauding himself for letting an intelligible noise be the first thing he said to her after a thousand years. "No."

She gasped. "Someone got to you first? Well, I can't be having that. I always deal the fatal blow." Her cheeky smirk faded as she strolled forwards, jabbing him in the chest accusingly and making his feet pedal backwards. "You! Now, _you_. You love being all mysterious, I'll give you that. All I get is, "Rule One: the Doctor _lies_". Then half an hour later I wake up to find out you're gone! Did you run away from me?" she asked teasingly, voice dropping to a purr. "Never run when you're scared."

The manic rifling through his memories in an attempt to place when she had come from shuddered to an abrupt conclusion. "Berlin."

Early, then. Very early. He wondered if this was some sort of karma, if the Universe was capable of such things, shoving her on his doorstep in this state without warning.

"Berlin!" River echoed brightly. "Fun, wasn't it?" She smirked, letting her eyes trail away from him. "Who's _this_?"

"I'm- I'm Clara. Hi."

"Hello there. I'm Melody. But _somebody_ insists on calling me River… I think it's a role-play thing," she whispered loudly. Her glassy eyes widened as they drifted around the console room. "It's different in here… everything's different!" she cried, sounding surprisingly distressed for someone who had only visited once before. "Is somebody having a midlife crisis?"

"River-" His tongue rolled back into his throat, almost choking on the name he hadn't spoken in so very long. Her eyebrows vaulted up her forehead. "River. You're sick."

"I'm not the one dishing out the kinky names, sweetie."

"No- no, you're _unwell_." He gestured at her, all ashen skin that was developing a sickly sheen with the mere effort of remaining upright; the dire effects of regeneration energy loss if he ever saw them. "You shouldn't have been allowed out of hospital like this."

"Oh, you sound like the nurses." She rolled her eyes, looking for all the world like her mother. "If everyone had just been a little less dramatic, I wouldn't have _had_ to climb out that window…"

He gawped at her incredulously. "You broke out? Why?"

"I was _bored_! You left me, went swaggering off somewhere… left me nothing but a bloody blank book- thank you very much, by the way!" she scoffed, whipping her untarnished, still crisp diary from her pocket and waving it in front of him. "What am I supposed to do with this? You could at the very least have given me something decent to read if you were going to leave me all on my own without even saying goodbye."

She pouted, looking up at him with sorrowful pools of eyes. It may have, admittedly, been a trick that had worked in the past. Luckily, he was aware that he now possessed the face and voice to give him at least a slight air of authority- not that he expected it to make a difference with her, but even now if her wellbeing was at stake then anything else was of little importance. "River, there was a reason why I put you in there. You aren't well. You need to sleep."

"Ugh!" She grimaced, waving her hand dismissively even though it was shaking. "I'm not overly fond of spending hours in bed…. _unless_…"

What was supposed to be a wink culminated in River's eyes rolling back into her head; the Doctor leapt forwards just in time for her to slump into his arms.

Clara started forwards. "What's wrong, what's happening to her?"

"Oh, just an impromptu… sleep." He adjusted the dead weight of her in his arms, peering down at her shockingly pale face anxiously. "Nothing life-threatening; though you know she's bad when she can't even make it to the end of an innuendo."

He became slightly preoccupied with a stray curl across her cheek, brushing it back with more tenderness than was very probably necessary for an unconscious person. "She just needs rest. She'll be right as rain in…" He scooped her up into his arms, staggering over to one of the console seats. "…A few hours."

He picked a seat just wide enough to lay her down, lifting her bare feet onto it once her head was resting safely on the arm. "No shoes. We're in the middle of nowhere. She's been walking for miles, with no shoes. River…" he scolded under his breath, straightening up to find Clara at his side.

"How is she here? Where did she come from?"

"She said; Berlin. The first time she met me… which makes this the second."

"How did she find you?"

"I've no idea. There was no message; she must have just run into us- or us into her- whichever way around it is- through… luck. If it can be called that."

"I think it can." Clara extended her hand, offering him the Tardis-blue diary cupped in it. "Here, she dropped this."

"Thank you." He slipped it into his pocket, on the opposite side from the full and weathered version of itself, with a mental note to ensure that he did not mix up the two.

"Well. That was eventful." Clara puffed out a sigh, running a hand through her hair. A hushed minute floated by. "Doctor?"

He hummed distractedly, chewing on his fingernails and observing River as if she was possessed.

"Are you… alright?"

"Yes, yeah, I'm… well no, not particularly. This doesn't make any kind of sense…"

"Yeah… dead wife turning up on your doorstep, must be-"

He shushed her fiercely. "Clara! Spoilers!"

"_What_?" she whispered back.

"You can't go around just blurting things out like that! She's clearly not dead _yet_, not to her. And don't call her my wife in front of her either. _This_ version of her hasn't even married me yet. She's right at the beginning."

Clara's eyebrows dipped, puzzling the conundrum over in her head. "So you can't mention anything about the future she'll go on to have with you? All the things you and her did when you had your other face? Not a single thing?"

"Not a single thing."

She pursed her lips, pushing a sigh between them. "That sounds… complicated."

"Oh, I'm more than used to it. Though this hasn't happened for a long, long time… I thought it never would again."

"She warmed to your new face quickly."

"Well, she has just changed herself. And she's only interacted with my last face once before anyway, so she probably doesn't mind it disappearing as much as… others."

A brief scowl cast over her face. "Well, that's just not- what do you mean, she's changed?"

"She regenerated yesterday- yesterday for her. Shot by Hitler."

"Hitler?"

"Yes."

Clara pressed a hand to her forehead. "Timey wimey."

He chuckled.

"She seemed a bit…"

"Bonkers?"

"That."

"Normal enough; you know what regeneration's like. It leads to all sorts of erratic behaviour."

Clara twirled one of her rings innocently. "So you mean she doesn't usually… flirt, or call you pretty?"

There was knowing in her voice; sure enough, he threw her a sidelong glance to find her smirking. "Well, that's what growing up with Amy Pond as your main influence does to you. Thing is, she's only just become River. She's not my wife yet… she's barely anything, from her point of view."

"And… from yours?"

He shook his head. "Spoilers, Clara. I've told you, I can't tell her anything about her future. She has to find that out for herself."

"Not _really_ what I was asking…"

His hands dug in his pockets abruptly. He spun on his heel, wandering over to the controls to eye them pointlessly. "I'll make sure she's well enough before I drop her off," he muttered quickly.

Clara was hot on his heels. "Drop her off? Where?"

"At the University," he deadpanned, sighing impatiently at the puzzled look on Clara's face. His hands wriggled in mid-air as he talked, attempting to justify his plans even though he was struggling even to believe himself. "She's an archaeologist- she will be an archaeologist, she has to- become- that, so I'll just drop her off, and she can make her own way-"

"Hang on. So you're just going to leave her? You can't do that! What happened to "in sickness and in health"?"

"We didn't take those vows. We didn't take any vows, come to think of it… I just sort of, told her she was my wife."

"Lucky woman."

He shot her a glare. "She's a grown woman, Clara."

Her arms folded across her chest, and he knew he was in trouble. She had this vexing habit of being able to talk him to anything under the sun. "Grown women can still need their husbands, _Doctor_."

He shook his head. "I'm not her husband."

"But you will be. That woman there, one day she's going to fall in love with you, and marry you-"

"And all of that has already _happened_ for me. It's over. My life with her is… over." He nodded as if trying to convince himself, gritting his back teeth because despite endless nights of telling himself the same thing it was shockingly difficult to say out loud. "Once she's better, I'll see her on her way. She won't want to know me anyway. Not like this."

"Don't, don't do that. If there's anyone who isn't going to bruise that bus-sized ego of yours, it's her. She already wants to _paint _you," she reminded him with a cocked eyebrow and a suppressed snort of laughter.

He glared the amusement off her face. "That's not happening."

"Not tonight."

"Stop it."

"But what's going to happen to her if you drop her off like this? She's obviously massively vulnerable right now- anyone would be, getting shot by _Hitler_-"

"Look- she'll manage! She'll go to the University, study archaeology, get her doctorate; she'll be absolutely fine-"

"And how do you know that? Because that's what she told you? And I suppose she didn't mention _this_?"

"Well, she couldn't have."

"So if she couldn't have mentioned seeing you with this face _at all_, how do you know that she was alone? How can you know that _you_ weren't there to help her?"

"I suppose I… can't… ooh."

The weight of worlds sprang off his shoulders, and he tried to force it back down, push the idea out of his head before it took seed. Wonderful things such as this, _new_ things, simply did not happen to him; not any more. "But- but… no, this shouldn't be how it is. I've done our last date, I've said goodbye to her- a very long time ago. I'm not sure I can do this all over again."

"You can. Because you have to." She smiled, seeing the stubbornness set into his features melt away. "And anyway, you're not _supposed_ to know when the last time of anything will be. It's better that way."

He surrendered, returning that impish smile of hers. "My impossible girl," he mused. "By the way, don't expect her to be too fond of you."

"What?"

"Well, think about it from her point of view. Last time she saw me I was still travelling with her parents; she runs into me a couple of days later and I'm older and living with a wee young thing who by Earth's conventional standards might be considered attractive."

Clara's tongue curled in her cheek, eyebrows shooting up. "Right. I'm just going to ignore that."

"Ignore what?"

"Yep. Exactly. Why, is she the… jealous type?"

His low laugh answered her alone. "Clara. There was one night where two different versions of her turned up, from different points in time-"

She winced. "Am I sure I want to hear this story?"

He shook his head. "That _mind_ of yours! Always jumping to conclusions like that, you should be ashamed of yourself. No. She was jealous of _herself_; she demanded to know who this other woman on board was, and wasn't best pleased when I wouldn't tell her so stormed off to look for herself… herself. So feel free to come to your own conclusions on your question."

A sudden grin split across Clara's face like a sunbeam. He frowned at her. "What?"

She nudged his arm. "This'll be good for you."

"I'd love to know how you arrived at that conclusion."

He sounded weary even to himself. Apparently he must have seemed that way a lot, because Clara didn't even blink.

"Because she's brand new, which means… you're going to have to be patient with her." Clara cocked an eyebrow, apparently incredibly entertained by the whole concept. "Now, from what I've seen, _this_ you," she made a sweeping gesture across him, "doesn't do patient. Grim and grumpy, and… Scottish, yeah, but _patient_…"

"What are friends for if not to boost each other's self-esteem," he muttered wryly.

A heavy groan made them spin where they stood. River was awake, perched on the edge of the seat he'd laid her on and staring into space with a lost expression.

It took a little dig in the back from Clara to make the Doctor wander forwards, gingerly taking a seat next to her. "How are you?"

Her head whipped towards him, eyes wide with alarm and shimmering with tears. "I don't understand!"

"What don't you understand?" he asked gently.

"I was in hospital, what…" Her bottom lip wobbled. "What happened to me? Where are my parents?"

"Not here, I'm afraid."

She opened her mouth as if to persist, but with one fleeting moment where their eyes met she seemed to know to decide against it. "You're different," she remarked flatly, forehead creasing with the effort of attempting to remember what had dissolved into fog. "Were you different when I got here?"

"Yes…" he answered, slightly wary of being robbed of her rather positive reaction to his new face.

"How did I…?" She swallowed, screwing her bleary eyes shut when the console room's cool lights became too much for her. "How _did_ I get here?"

"Even I don't know that. But I do believe it involved a hospital window."

"Oh…" Her weak laugh trailed off into a moan, and she buried her face in her hands. "How long have I been here?"

"All of five minutes."

Her eyes fell on Clara, and she almost recoiled in fright before leaning close to the Doctor to whisper in his ear. "Who's that?"

She smiled patiently, taking a hesitant step forwards. "I'm Clara. I'm a friend of your- um- the Doctor's."

River blinked rapidly, pressing her mouth shut into a thin line. "I see. I should… I'm sorry for- imposing, I should… go…"

She swayed dangerously on her feet within seconds of managing to stand up. The Doctor rose up to catch her. "Whoa. You're not going anywhere like this."

"I…" What little colour had graced her face had ebbed away; her eyes were ringed with grey and kept flickering shut. "I'm alright."

He held onto her arms, keeping her upright when she attempted to advance towards the door and her knees buckled. Hiding the damage. He hadn't missed that. "Melody." She looked up at him helplessly with cloudy eyes. "You don't have to do that."

Her mouth opened and closed uselessly. River Song lost for words; perhaps the Universe worked miracles after all, he mused. "I should…"

He tried to ask as kindly as he could. "Where else have you got to go?"

She threw a glance at the door, chewing her lip. "I could… find somewhere."

His hand was tucking her curls behind her ears before he could tell it not to. "You have."

River sank down into the chair, defeated. "Are you sure?" she asked when he perched next to her.

"It's not like I'm short on space."

It made her laugh, albeit feebly. "Just… you only met me yesterday."

"No; _you_ only met _me_ yesterday," he reminded her.

She exhaled slowly, puffing out her cheeks. "Right… still trying to get my head round that. But I did cause you a fair bit of trouble." She gave him a watery smile. "You don't owe me this."

"You always cause me trouble." It was amazing how much joy slipped without force into those words. He loved her mischief more than he'd known at the time, it would seem. "And it's my privilege."

She looked up at him with soft eyes through a mop of unruly hair. "Look at you. They showed me all your faces, they made me memorise them, but this one never came up. I'm assuming this is the one after the one you had at Berlin?"

"Yes."

"That's more faces than should be possible." Her puffy eyes narrowed, a wry smile curling up her lips. "Let me guess. You found an ingenious way around the regeneration limit."

"You could say that."

"You acted like you knew me with your last face… you must really know me now."

He shook his head gently. "Spoilers."

River scoffed. "You really overuse that word, you know. Berlin was a long time ago for you, then? Surely you can tell me that."

"Yes, it was."

Her smile was unexpectedly sad. "This must be weird for you."

"A lot stranger has happened."

"I'll bet."

She kept regarding the console room with strangeness bordering on hostility. There were days to come, he thought, when she would stroll in and pilot the ship she was now looking at with cold unfamiliarity better than he ever could. She had always been the woman who'd _known_.

It was sort of wonderful to see her brand new, without all the psychopathic shenanigans tied on; especially when even with all of that, even with her being lost and alone and most likely feeling awful, she was still giving him that smile that could keep supernovas burning.

"Do you have any spare clothes on here?" she asked, tugging uncomfortably on the hem of the skirt she was wearing. "My mother left some outfits at the hospital for me, but they're all… well, Amy."

"I think there _might_ be some women's clothes somewhere around here…"

Clara pressed her lips together to stop her smirk growing, seeing the Doctor shoot her a look. He sighed under his breath, getting to his feet and beckoning River. "Come with me. I'll find you something."

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_**Hope you liked it. There will be following chapters soon! x**_


	3. The Purpose of Furious Eyebrows

_**It can't be said enough- thank you to everyone who's taken an interest in this little story. I'm so glad you're enjoying it.**_

_**This follows straight on from the previous chapter; River and the Doctor have some bonding time over pyjamas and eyebrows.** _

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The Doctor stalked through the corridors of the Tardis, River hot on his heels. Ignoring his spinning head, he fired instructions at her because admittedly he relished being blessed with a version of her remotely willing to listen to a word he had to say.

"You can have my bed."

"But _where_ will you sleep?"

"Down girl. I don't sleep."

"_Never_?"

"Hardly ever." He came to a stop when the Tardis put the door he'd been searching for in front of him, running his fingers across the grooves in the wood with an edge of nostalgia until River caught up with him. "You, however, most definitely do need to sleep, so I hope this will do for you."

With a deft swoop of his arm, the door swung open and he gestured for River to have first entry to the room that would in time for her become their refuge, the one place in the Universe to where they could recede and be themselves together in times of both joy and misfortune.

The soft gasp that came from her was one of awe, and as he followed her his fingertips brushed the wall next to him in a silent gesture of gratitude to the Tardis. The room looked pristine, filled with the scent floating from a small vase full of sunflowers on the bedside table. The layers of dust he'd imagined must have accumulated in this room since she had left, as he had not mustered a force strong enough to bring him back here since, were gone without a trace; as were the things River's future self had left in here- shoes and perfume bottles and photographs that he'd never had the hearts to get rid of. She'd certainly gone to great lengths to make her child feel very much at home.

"Well, this is grand!" River smoothed the golden covers adorning the bed. "This'll do _very _nicely."

The mattress bounced under her weight when she flopped onto the bed with a contented hum. She propped herself up on her elbows, watching him with a gleam in her eyes as if half-expecting him to join her. "I'd _love _to know why you have such a magnificent bed if you don't need to sleep."

"I'm sure you would." The Doctor whirled around, heading to the wardrobe they'd once shared. "Now, about your clothes-"

He was cut off with a dirty cackle. "Doctor! How forward!"

Yes. She'd definitely spent too much time with her mother. "Dear god, you're hard work young," he muttered into the wardrobe.

"Sorry?"

"Nothing. Ah! Here." Tucked away on the top shelf, as he'd hoped, was a pair of blue pyjamas that had once belonged to her. He'd never known where they'd come from, but back in the days when she had known him better than he'd known her, she had always insisted upon wearing them; he'd never understood why, and any question as to why she adored them so much always inevitably led to a cheeky retort of _Spoilers_!

She raised an eyebrow in distaste when he presented them to her, her future favourites, for the first time. "Really?"

He finally discovered a delightful purpose for his overbearing eyebrows as he mirrored her unimpressed expression, making her relent. Eyebrow standoffs. That was new. "What would you prefer, a cocktail dress? You're to do nothing but sleep, and these are sleeping clothes. So put them on."

River took them off him reluctantly, pulling control back in the manner she always did. "I don't normally wear pyjamas, but seeing as I'm your guest…"

She was already unbuttoning her shirt, apparently unfazed by his presence, and he was quite strict in telling himself that now would be an appropriate time to leave. "I'm going to get the medical kit. Shout if you need anything."

"Oh, stay if you like!" He cast a glance over his shoulder to find her smirking. "I won't complain," she purred.

"I don't doubt that." Of course, he knew better than to give into temptation such as that when she was so very early on; even if she never changed, if her current demeanour was anything to go by, she had days waiting in her future that she was not yet ready for.

Ignoring her protestations he left her to get changed and headed down to the medical bay, intent on ensuring she made a full recovery lest that future he was so keen to make her wait for was jeopardised.

Five minutes later he was back outside the bedroom, bringing himself to an abrupt halt. "Are you… decent?"

Her voice, filled with laughter, floated through the wood. "I'm never decent."

"That's very true."

"Excuse me, dear, you're the one dragging me to your bedroom and telling me to take off my clothes!"

He hovered outside the door for another minute to be safe, and after placing the retrieved medical kit on the dresser turned to find her in front of the mirror, dressed in the new pyjamas he'd seen her in countless times. She tested out her features one by one; crossing her eyes, wrinkling her nose, puffing out her cheeks, stretching her mouth into a toothy grin before sticking her tongue out.

The Doctor allowed himself to watch her for one of the most amusing minutes of his entire life, able just to take her in unobserved since she had first arrived in a whirlwind of confusion. "River," he called softly.

It took her a good few seconds to answer, and she did so with an apologetic smile. "That's going to take some getting used to. Is that really what I call myself? It just sounds so… fairy tale."

"It's no better than Melody Pond."

She smiled. She did a lot of that, he mused, for a newly reformed psychopath. "That's true. My mother has always loved her fables. Do you have a hairbrush or something I can borrow?"

It hardly took any time for him to dig out her old brush, tucked away in a drawer full of her things. He was slightly astounded at himself, how many little memories had clung to the fabric of his mind concerning River.

"I don't know," she declared suddenly, her words punctuated with a sigh that startled him from his thoughts.

"What?"

"Well… I did love the hair at first, but having to attack _this_ every morning?" She gestured at her flamboyant mane of curls, springing in directions that defied the laws of physics themselves. "It's going to be a bit of a chore."

"You'll manage." He had half a mind to prise the brush from her hand and work through it for her when she groaned in frustration at the curls tangling up in the bristles, and again had to remind himself that she didn't really know him yet. While she'd insist it of him in the future, he had no doubt that such a gesture would have seemed odd to her when she was this young.

Instead he watched her, in the way one would observe a striking painting in a gallery. She was peering at herself in the mirror, scrutinising her still-new features with a scowl. "God, my _nose_. And I used to make fun of my dad's."

He rolled his eyes behind her. He'd certainly heard _this_ complaint before.

"Saw that." She huffed, rubbing her nose as if she could reshape it with her bare hands.

"Regeneration's a lottery." He decided not to add the opinion that she had most _definitely_ won the jackpot. He'd told her that before, on a morning just like this when she was grunting irritably and wrestling her way through her unruly curls. Or he would.

"Well, it's alright for you; you'll most likely change again in due time. I'm stuck with this now." She pressed the delicate arch in her nose with a scowl. "Look at this! What am I supposed to do with this?"

"I've got one now." He joined her at the mirror, twisting his head to the side. "Look at mine. I could go fishing with that."

"You do look a bit like a frustrated owl. But you can't use _this_ chin as a hat rack; that's something." She bit back a snigger, seeing him throw her a glare in the mirror. "My, what an angry face! It's those eyebrows. At least they've finally hit puberty," she giggled. "They are rather menacing, aren't they? Well, now we know where the last ones were: teaming up with this pair."

He wiggled his eyebrows in the mirror. "I look permanently furious. My own reflection frightens me. And don't even get me started on the kidneys." He paused for a moment, wondering if he'd want to know the answer to the question bubbling in his head. As she hadn't recoiled in horror or threatened to leave so far, he decided that things were going well enough to test the water. She had been rather complimentary on arrival, though he wasn't entirely sure how much flattery counted when said flatterer was slightly delirious from illness. "What do you think?"

"Of?"

"This face."

For being so young, she was still so very _River_. The amount of time she kept him waiting as her eyes trailed the length of him was almost as scandalous as the conclusion she came to. "It would be positively indecent of me to say what I'm thinking." She waited for him to look up with eyes just a little too wide before throwing his reflection a sultry wink. "Why are you Scottish?"

"I don't know. It just sort of happened."

"I'm assuming this face must still be quite new for you, if you're having hang-ups about it. But you said Berlin was a while ago for you?"

"It was. I was in that last body a long time."

"Makes sense; must have lasted you a while, given that it was the body of a twelve-year-old." She grinned. "I couldn't _believe_ it when I ran into you in that cornfield!"

"Ran over me, you mean."

"Well. I never expected you to look like that. Why did you? It was _weird_, you've got to admit. A nine-hundred-and-something-year-old having a baby face like that. You looked the same age as my parents. Though so did I, so I'm hardly one to criticise. Is that what you were doing, too? Trying to fit in?"

He'd missed having someone to just understand. It was there even now, as her new eyes met his in the mirror; the soft gaze that came from complete acceptance and unwavering faith, one he had been terrified to find in her and since struggled to find in anyone else. They all loved him, of course, for reasons unknown to him, but not like this. Everybody else loved him as a god. She loved him as a man.

She would. "I think it was," he told her.

"You said you were in that body a long time… how long is a long time?"

"Uh… roughly thirteen hundred years, I think."

"_Really_? My god! Yesterday for me was thirteen _hundred_ years ago for you? How did that happen?"

"I got… stuck, somewhere."

"Well. I suppose a millennium's no time at all for you."

It certainly had not felt like _no time at all_, without her there. But of course he didn't tell her that.

"I can't even get my head around that… you've known me a hell of a while, in that case."

"It's a cross I have to bear."

Gradually, her on-going efforts to win the battle against her hair lessened. Before long he noticed her wince; the hairbrush slipped from her clammy and shaking hands. "Alright?" he enquired.

She blinked heavily. "Uh… I just, feel a bit… it comes and goes. I keep having relapses; you probably noticed downstairs."

He pushed her with some insistence to sit on the edge of the bed, seeing how her feet allowed her to sway as if ready to give in at any moment. "Exhaustion does that. Wandering around for days on end can't have worked wonders, either," he scolded, throwing her a look from under his eyebrows and grabbing the medical kit from the dresser. "Where did you think you were going when you broke out of that hospital?"

She huffed. "I don't know. Somewhere better."

He smiled, prising the kit open. "Good answer."

"Well, one who's been genetically engineered and filled with chemicals from birth against their will doesn't tend to be too fond of medical treatment."

"I understand." He scrambled about in the kit, retrieving what he'd been searching for and holding it up to her with an almost manic gleam in his eye. "I'm just going to stick this big needle in your arm now."

The colour drained from River's face. "Oh, no, no, no. I don't think you are."

"You lost the right to a vote when you climbed out of your window. What are you, some sort of madwoman?" he grinned. She'd understand the irony one day, when she knew him; for now he was more than content to be the only one amused by his own jokes- nothing out of the ordinary there.

Seeing the near-petrified look on her face made him lower the needle, just for a moment. "It's just me, I won't hurt you. Well, I might hurt you a fair bit, I really don't know. Do injections hurt? I haven't had one in a while."

"Yes, they do, and…" She shuffled along the bed as she spoke, scooting away from him until he grabbed her arm. "No, I don't- I don't want-"

"It'll be fine. Honestly. I'm a Doctor."

"Not a medical one," she muttered sulkily, watching with a helpless glare as he pulled her pyjama sleeve back.

"Don't be pernickety. Ooh, what's that over there?"

"What-" He used the brief moment she whipped her head to examine the astonishing- invisible- thing that he had pointed at behind her to jab the needle in her arm. "_Ow_!"

He smiled down her scowl, slightly adoring her innocence. His impossibly astute River Song, falling for ruses that caught out children. "Sorry about that. Oldest trick in the book."

She winced as the needle drove under her skin. "I don't care for this mortal lark."

He smiled wanly, massaging away the redness that the injection had left with the pads of his fingers. "You're still a lot more resilient than a human."

"Are the injections just for fun?"

He nodded up at her briefly, packing the needle away into the medical kit. "It'll numb that headache."

"How did you-"

"Common side-effect of regeneration energy depletion; natural enough," he explained softly. "Let me know if it worsens though."

"Thank you." She gave him such a sincere smile when their eyes met that it stirred feelings in him he'd forgotten he was even capable of having. Saying that, it was merely momentary; unlike herself, she seemed uncomfortable for a reason as of yet unknown to him as she cleared her throat and looked away. "Uh, Clara seems nice."

"I suppose you could say that, aside from the whole game-playing control freak thing." He almost laughed, but judging by the almost horrified expression on River's face realised that perhaps such an observation sounded rather unkind unless to Clara herself. Clara knew it was all in jest, he assured himself. She definitely didn't take offence… "No, she is. She's done more for me than I outwardly give her credit for. I'm not sure what I'd do without her, to be perfectly honest. Don't tell her I said that," he added quickly. "It won't help that egomania of hers. If she asks, tell her I said she was short and bossy; I have appearances to keep up."

River nodded, picking at the hem of her pyjama top and remaining silent for so long that he wondered if the injection had made her have a funny turn.

"So," she barked suddenly, making his hearts convulse. "Is she- are you…" Her hands scrambled for words in thin air, mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. "I'm assuming you're together."

He choked on a laugh. "I'm sorry?"

"It's- well. Fine. I don't want to know the details, but good for you-"

"N-no. No-"

"Bit surprised. Not surprised- surprised would suggest I care, which I obviously- just- I didn't think you got involved in that sort of thing. With girls. Or humans. Or… human girls-"

_Oh_. If he was ever lucky enough to come across an old enough version of her again, he was going to tease her _mercilessly_ for this. "I don't. She's just a good… friend, of mine. If friend is the right word."

She looked up at him, emerald eyes darting between his as if trying to determine whether or not he was being truthful. It would be a while before she'd actually be able to do so, but once she'd learned she'd never be wrong. "Really?"

For now, because she didn't yet know him, he gave her a smile by way of reassurance. "Really really."

"Oh." Her shoulders drooped a little with visible relief, and he tried not to be smug. It wasn't much of a successful attempt. "So- you've never-?"

"_No_, River."

"You don't know what I was going to ask!"

"Oh, I most certainly do."

She smiled wanly. "Am I that predictable?"

"Just to me."

"Well." She blushed. She actually _blushed_. He had to physically look away to conceal his delight.

The moment of joy was short-lived, as all moments of joy tended to be. He heard River inhale slowly, as if bracing herself, and guessed the genre of her next enquiry correctly.

"Should I ask what happened to my parents?"

The stab of pain caused by her words made his entire body tense. It was funny, morbidly so, how no distinguishable of amount of time could lessen that sensation. "You know I can't tell you," he managed eventually, sounding far more at peace than he felt, than he'd ever felt about his Ponds.

She nodded curtly and swallowed hard, circling one of the pyjama buttons with her finger idly. "Will I see them again?"

"Oh, yes. All the time."

He saw her light up. "That's good. I miss them."

The second part came quietly, and he put such a stripped back revelation on her being so young.

"But you won't see them again," she said knowingly. "This you."

So she'd always known Manhattan was coming, then, or something like it. It seemed fitting; although apparently, the superior knowledge he'd always credited her with was his doing, by the looks of things. It was funny how the strands of their entire lives were inexorably intertwined so that they influenced each other cyclically. "No. But out there, there's a younger version of me who's just left you at the hospital and has a lifetime left with them. And you'll see him." He pushed himself to his feet, gesturing at the inviting bed. "You should really get some sleep now."

River looked up at him, a smile playing at her lips. "I'm surprised you trust me enough to leave me unattended. I did kill you the last time we met."

He winked at her. "I'll watch my back. Sweet dreams."


	4. Count to Four

**50 followers! Wow. Thanks to every single one of you, you're all truly wonderful. It's my pleasure to write for you.**

**This chapter takes place on the same night as the previous two, save the flashback at the beginning which is evidently rather early in the Doctor's timeline. Enjoy! x**

* * *

_She's stayed a few times now. He doesn't have much say in the matter; she struts about like she owns the place- him included._

_Sleeps in _his_ bed, too. The nerve! _

_He's tried telling her that the Tardis could easily make her a room of her own. She just laughs at that. Says she doesn't need one. Apparently she's far happier invading his very personal space in every way she can possibly think of- without asking, thank you very much. Now he's reduced to grumbling about assaulted privacy while she just smiles that smile she has that makes him terrified and sort of thrilled in equal measure._

_Something more than a little disturbing takes place one night. As per usual she has declared his bed in her name, and of course he's slightly afraid of finding out what happens if he doesn't allow her to do what she wants. She definitely seems to be a woman who gets her own way; he knows that if little else._

_But that night he's roused from busying himself around the console, fixing things that don't need fixing and pressing buttons he doesn't know the purpose of- a risky business- by shrill screams that are enough to make his blood run cold._

_When he hurtles upstairs with all the coordination of a puppy on ice, he is rather surprised to burst into the bedroom from which the screams are originating and find no aliens, no monsters- in fact, no apparent threat at all. Only River, writhing and twisting the covers around her as if in pain, with her eyes screwed shut and terrible screams bursting forth from her lungs._

_He comes to the conclusion that she must be having a bad dream, and the realisation brings about a sharp pang in his chest. She doesn't seem the type to have bad dreams; not ones as severe as he assumes they are, judging by the expression on her face that is contorted in terror even in sleep._

_The Doctor tiptoes forwards and perches on the very edge of the bed, prodding her awkwardly until her cries subside and her eyes fly open._

_"__Are you alright?" He realises it's a bit of a thick question the moment it leaves his lips. "Well- I mean, you're obviously not alright, because- because you were screaming, and alright people don't… scream…"_

_She's touching him. Quite firmly. Why is she quite firmly touching him?! His hands curl around the edge of the bed to prevent his body from floating up to the ceiling, as she takes it upon herself to rest her hands on his chest._

_She's whispering something under her breath in a chant. She sounds possessed._

_He is more than a little nervous. "River?" he prompts eventually, swallowing a lump in his throat._

_She doesn't respond, just keeps on whispering the same thing over and over again._

_"__One two three four, one two three four, one… four, one… two… one…"_

_She seems to lose control, the chant slipping away into nothing as her breathing becomes shallow and sobs rise in her throat. He doesn't know what to do._

_"__River…"_

_Her hands drop from him, and her body curls up as if in defence. She mumbles something that is just about translatable as an instruction to get out._

_He does as she asks, assuming she must want to be alone. Why would she tell him to get out otherwise? _

_But he feels a pull on his hearts when he glances back; guilt pools in his stomach, even though he doesn't entirely know why. _

_Her eyes are full of sadness, and he hates the way she looks at him like he doesn't understand. _

* * *

Clara was still up when he hopped downstairs, full of enquiries about how his wife was faring.

"She's asleep," he clarified, aware that she clearly did not consider him fit to ensure River's wellbeing if this interrogation was anything to go by.

"Ah. Did you still have her old room?"

"No, she didn't have one. She's in my- my room."

He faltered and ruffled his hair awkwardly, abruptly realising his mistake when Clara's eyes _ignited_. At least she was having a fun evening, even if it was at his expense.

"Firstly. _You_ have a _bed_?"

"Yes," he said slowly. "Is that a problem?"

"No, nothing," she shrugged. "I just- I thought you only did "standy-up-cat-naps"."

His eyebrows dipped at her Scottish imitation. "Was that meant to be me? That was poor."

She smirked. "Why do you need a bedroom?"

"It's not a bedroom. It's just my… room."

"It's a room… with a bed in it. Ergo it is a bedroom."

"No it's- look, there happens to be a console in this room, doesn't mean we call it the… well, stupid example. That room! That room you have, with all the squishy chairs in it, do you call that the squishy chair room?"

"You mean the living room?"

"The _living_ room? Why on earth would you call it that- that implies that you live only in that room! What happens when you go into the kitchen, do you _stop_ living?"

"It's just the room in which people happen to _do_ most of their living."

"Maybe for people who never go outside," he muttered.

"So not only do you have a bedroom which frankly is shocking enough but, more importantly, you have bed in that bedroom that you share with another actual living person?"

"I'm don't share- who says I share it? I'm here, not- cuddled up under the duvet with her!"

"_Right_," Clara whispered, condescension lining her voice. "So I suppose you just… take turns? Have shifts?"

"Uh… yes."

"No. She'd _never_ in a million years let you get away with that."

"Do you really think I have enough time to spend hours just- sleeping, next to someone?"

She grinned. "Oh, I never thought you slept."

He didn't like that she was now apparently immune to his menacing glares, but tried one all the same. "You are disgraceful. And it's past your bedtime, so, bye."

Clara eventually conceded, gambling up the stairs but stopping long enough to call back to him. "Doctor? I'm happy for you. I know what she meant to you, I'm… I'm glad you've got her again."

"Thank you. Be careful- it doesn't suit you, being nice like that. Your head might implode if it happens too often."

"Thanks for the advice. Maybe with River... try not to, you know. Be yourself, too much."

"That's better."

When Clara had disappeared he headed back to the room where River was sleeping, because he knew what was coming.

* * *

It was less than three hours into what passed for night on board the Tardis when the screaming came.

The Doctor was waiting next door, leafing through the pages of an old book without reading a single word. The moment the silence was pierced he placed it calmly on the shelf and made his way into the room where River lay.

A single wall separated him from her; he'd discovered the room in which he'd resided for the past three hours a very long time ago, and it hadn't taken him to conclude that the Tardis had designed it for the purpose for which he was now using it. In here, he was never far away to hear her child and help her when lost in the throes of a night terror.

The screams intensified the moment he edged the door open, and peering through the darkness he saw River's sleeping corpse rigid in terror, thrashing about the bed as if lost in a rough sea.

It was important not to wake her until she was firmly in his hold; he'd had a few narrow escapes before coming to that realisation. It was one of the most saddening things in the entire Cosmos to him, knowing her lack of security was such that her basic instinct was to shoot. Even in her Professor days, a gun still sat nestled between her pillows.

He managed to deftly curl his hands around her wrists, pulling her to sit upright and holding fast when she twisted violently in his grasp.

River's eyes snapped open when he said her name, rousing her abruptly from the demons of her dreams; he watched the stages of surprise, relief and then horror seep into her eyes in quick succession. Her reaction was characteristically volatile; although still shaking, the sheen of a cold sweat on her skin, she recoiled away from him.

He stared her down calmly through the darkness; she regarded him warily from where she sat, curled up tightly with her hands tucked under her knees. He knew why; she didn't trust herself. But he did, and that would be all she'd need on all nights like this.

"Give me your hands," he instructed, met with nothing more than her solid refusal to relent.

She shivered when he touched her. "Please don't."

"River," he coaxed gently, finding her shaking hands and cupping them tightly. "Trust me." He brought her hands up, and despite her resistance managed to place them over his chest where his hearts sat.

She watched him with a manically distrusting look in her eyes. "What are you doing?"

"Just listen. Concentrate," he soothed, keeping his hands pressed over hers and feeling his staccato double-pulse through their intertwined fingertips. "One-two-three-four, one-two-three-four, one-two-three-four…"

"Doctor, this isn't helping!"

"And not only did you just speak a complete sentence, but shouted it in a characteristically impatient manner." He smiled wryly when she looked up at him from under heavy eyelids. "I beg to differ. Now count with me. One-two-three-four, one-two-three-four…"

She joined in, a broken whisper gradually ascending into a voice more steady. They chanted together until the rosy tint returned to her cheeks and he felt the tremble drain from her fingertips.

On some nights it took hours. He never stopped, or gave up, or let go; he felt he at least owed her this, as it was the only time she ever needed- or at least, admitted to needing- comfort. After all she did for him, he would count to four a million times over if it made River a little better.

"Thank you," she whispered when she found enough breath to speak.

"It's not…" She dipped her head, burying her nose in his chest so her curls tickled his nose and made his words curdle in his head. Her hand was still clutching at his waistcoat fabric tightly, the way small children held onto grown-ups when they were afraid of falling.

He wondered momentarily if she could feel his hearts swell into a mighty drumming orchestra at her touch. It perplexed him to a degree. It would have been ridiculous, in fact, for such a feeling to linger after so long in the absence of it- if the object of his affections was anyone in this Cosmos or the next but River Song.

They'd go for months without running into each other. The moment that their timelines looped once again they'd forget they had ever been out of the other's presence. It had terrified him at first, a relationship strong enough to manage that- because it took the reason he gave for not allowing himself to grow close to someone in such a way and eradicated it. He never had to worry about River; while he had found more love in her heart than he had believed to be possible in any living creature, she had never been so human as to need him there all the time.

A thousand years didn't just fall away, of course. But then again, neither did the love that had cultivated itself over centuries, and their sporadic lives had certainly stood him in good stead for this. Although still slightly in awe that she was next to him again, simultaneously it felt like every other date they'd had; as if she had fallen asleep in this bed of theirs after one of their many days spent running across the stars, and everything was right again.

It was marvellous the amount of things that a mind could process within a moment of silence. "…Ah, a problem," he finished eventually, laying a hesitant hand on her back.

"Um…" She sat up, scrubbing her eyes tiredly. A flush ran along her cheeks; he wished he could tell her embarrassment was so far from necessary, but she'd find that out in time for herself. "Sorry. Nobody's ever… been with me before, when this has happened… apart from Amy."

"Does this happen a lot?"

River nodded. He already knew the answer in part; he'd known she had nightmares, but in the old days she'd rather have died than tell him just how regular they were and risk appearing in any way vulnerable. "I used to sleep at Amy's house when we were little… when she woke me and asked me why I was screaming I'd make up these stories about… bogeymen and horrible creatures that lived under beds. And then neither of us would be able to get back to sleep," she smiled weakly. "Needless to say I was never allowed back for long periods of time."

The Doctor laughed with her, seeing just a little of that sparkle spring back into her eyes. "I'm sorry," she sighed. "It's embarrassing- I just can't control it. It's always the same nightmare and it just never goes away."

He shook his head. "You don't have to apologise. But what you do have to do is follow me."

Springing off the bed still with one of her hands wrapped in his, he pulled her with him out of their bedroom and down the Tardis corridor.

"Where are we going?"

"I can't stop your nightmares, River." _Not when you're this young_. There had been a few instances in which he'd risked an old Time Lord trick- mental manipulation- to crawl inside her mind and soothe the terrors he found within it, but only in the rare instances when they were fortunate enough to reach the closest thing they ever would to linear.

Not tonight; he wouldn't be the giver of spoilers this early on. "But I can give you a remedy that you may just end up using for the rest of your life."

"What's that?"

"Tea," he declared. He heard her incredulous scoff, and smiled wryly. "You laugh now. Just you wait."


	5. Two Sugars

**Hello all! This one continues straight on from the previous chapter again; the flashback is sweet Eleven and his wonderfully clueless nature, and back with Twelve he and River bond over tea (the fastest way to friendship, tea). No sulking among otters... yet.**

* * *

_"How do you take your tea?"_

_Her laugh surprises him so much that the spoon in his uncoordinated hands clatters against the bench. "You tell me."_

_He glances up at her warily, frowns. "What?"_

_River Song still frightens him more than he'll care to admit. For goodness' sake, she'd almost crashed that biplane, and that devilish laugh when he'd informed her of such a fact had lifted the hairs straight off the back of his neck. Poor Marilyn had been petrified as she'd flown close enough to the ground to scrape it before flipping them upside down, whooping over his shouts of terror and remarking that it was better than the way he flew the Tardis on the way there. The way she'd said "flew" had made him lapse into a sulk for the remainder of the journey._

_Yes. She's mad all right, and more than a little dangerous. Whoever she is._

_She's watching him with that manic glint, the one he sees only and always in her eye. He doesn't quite know how to describe it other than that it leaves him feeling like her possession._

_And he really rather likes it._

_She holds up two perfectly manicured digits, a smirk playing with the corners of her mouth. "Two sugars, sweetie."_

* * *

River sat at the little table in the Tardis kitchen, peppered with mug rings and a few scorch marks from Clara's many cooking escapades. He allowed himself to steal glances at her while waiting for the kettle to boil; wrapped up in her pyjamas, cheeks flushed and hair fluffed from restless sleep, it was a warmly familiar picture of domesticity that he remembered he'd almost grown used to, in a time where he was naïve enough and lost in enough pretence to allow such things.

He vowed he'd never do so again. But she looked so small like this, feet tucked underneath her and eyes flitting around the room anxiously like someone who didn't belong. He felt the strangest compulsion to look after the woman who had always more than extended him the same courtesy.

The Doctor handed her the tea when it was made perfectly, little tendrils of steam escaping from it. She looked down into the mug warily. "I don't take sugar."

"You do now." He gave her a gentle smile when her eyes shot up to him doubtfully. "Trust me. I know you more than you do." He slid into the chair opposite her and waited patiently until she gave in and took a tentative sip of the mug wrapped in her hands. Immediately her hum of approval made a smug smile ignite on his face.

Seeing her surprise at her own traits was wonderfully amusing for him, perhaps even a little magical. Nothing could quite compare with seeing someone he as bound to so closely newly emerged from the chrysalis of regeneration, discovering for the first time what she had revealed to him so very long ago.

"Are you right about everything?" she mused.

"Oh, no. You've informed me of quite the opposite several times."

Several times was a colossal understatement.

She smirked complacently, taking a long sip of her tea. "Good. Hate a know-it-all." Her eyes sparkled at him over the rim of her mug as she drank the tea. "Funny."

"What?"

"You." A smirk crawled across her face at the jolt of his eyebrows, taking pleasure in offending him as much as she always had. Would. "Older, Scottish, curly hair if you let it grow, I'll bet, and…" She leaned forwards without warning, resting her palms on his thighs; just momentarily, but enough to make his breath hitch as she stared _right_ _at him_. "Yep- green-blue eyes… just like my new one," she declared. He willed these apparently green-blue eyes of his not to let themselves drop onto her lips as she lingered close to him for just a moment longer than necessary; long enough for her satisfied sigh to leave a warm tingle along his cheeks before she reclined back into her chair with that River air, all smug and haughty and _gorgeous_.

And young. He smoothed his hand over his jacket pocket, feeling the outline of the untouched blue diary nestled within it to remind himself just how much. "You're not Scottish."

She cocked an eyebrow. "Amy; I'm half Scottish. Half English…"

"And half Tardis," he finished.

She bit her lip, completely unaware that it was a move she'd play simply to drive shivers through him in the future. His fingers curled around the arm of his chair. "How can I be half of three things?" she asked bemusedly.

"Because that's just who you are, River. You defy all logic and reason."

She chuckled. "I do like the sound of that."

Her words pinged around the Doctor's head, rousing a curiosity these days usually reserved for danger in all forms. He'd never liked this new body so far. He'd never really understood it; it was all too cross and had reminded him just how old and far away from those he'd known he actually was, which had been a rather unpleasant wake-up call. What he had concluded was that it was a lonely body; one not sculpted to fit anyone, one not with the camouflage of youth or the pleasant disposition necessary to make friendships. A body destined to reside in solitude without the warmth of love he had once craved.

But perhaps he'd been wrong.

River was focussing on a spot beneath his chin, brow furrowed. "What happened to your bow tie?"

He cringed. "Don't remind me. It's long gone."

"I liked it."

He scoffed, starting forwards at the deadly solemn expression on her face and fully expecting her to burst into peals of laughter. She'd _liked_ his fashion choices; easily the biggest surprise of the night so far. "Really?"

"It was sharp. I like a man who makes an effort."

"Well, I prefer the more minimalist look these days."

She lurched forwards on her chair, peeling back his jacket to reveal the red silk lining and cocking an eyebrow sceptically. "Minimalist?"

He glanced down at himself, slightly offended at her tone. "Yes," he judged, glancing over his own outfit. "I'd say… basic."

"I'd say wizard." That smirk was back, crawling up from behind her mug. "You just can't help yourself, can you?"

"What?"

"Being the exhibitionist." She stared his scoff of indignation down. "You changed into a top hat and tails when you had less than twenty minutes to live."

"Who doesn't?"

She smiled, but apparently a reference to Berlin was enough to pull the shards of fear back into her eyes. "You didn't ask," she said quietly, after a glacier of silence passed between them.

"Ask what?"

She ran her finger along the empty mug, watching its journey around the rim as an excuse to avoid meeting his gaze. "About my dream."

"Was I supposed to?"

She smirked weakly. "If a strange woman started screaming in _my_ bed, I'd be curious. Unless that's not unusual for you…"

"Curiosity is a dangerous game where you're concerned."

"And why might that be?"

"Spoilers."

"Ooh." Her eyes narrowed through the half-light of the kitchen, dancing in the orange glow. "What do I have to do to get all those secrets out of you, Doctor?"

"I wouldn't try. I guard my secrets closely."

"You don't know my methods." Her voice dropped; and in that instant he realised just how conflicted her battered mind must have been, fighting the psychopath that had been injected in her veins and was responsible for the cold steel edge lining her words while the new side, the River Song side which knew happiness and love and frivolity, was trying desperately to push it down. "I'm capable of more than your magnificent mind could imagine, sweetie. I could have you on your knees."

"You're forgetting something."

"What's that?"

"I'm older. And I know what all those smiles and the double-entendres mean. You don't have to consider them necessary with me, not when I look like this. I'm too old, and I know you far too much. So drop the act."

The complacent snarl fell from her face, trembling lip betraying her by the time he had concluded. Her eyes were wide and fixed on him; the man she'd murdered, now not only sitting in front of her but declaring that he knew how her soul was wired.

"I know. First time that hasn't worked, am I right?" he asked calmly, a smile softening his words as he took in her almost frightened countenance. He assumed that to have someone understand after so many years of being misread would be frightening, and then he realised that he knew that for himself courtesy of her. He was thankful that this particular body was calm enough not to melt into a twitchy puddle of nerves and flailing limbs at one of her glances; perhaps this one had been designed to handle her. "You must use that approach a lot. Why?"

River cleared her throat, shifting in her chair uneasily. "To get my own way, I suppose," she admitted in a sulky mumble. "And- to take control… when you can't trust anyone, sometimes making them afraid of you is your best option."

"Right, then you should know two things. Firstly, you'll always get your own way with me. Getting your own way is your superpower. You don't need to ask, let alone threaten, because that will always be the case. And secondly, I can promise you very little in all honesty, but what I can give you is trust. You can't frighten me. But you can put faith in me, and believe me when I tell you I'll accept you without question or judgement."

Her empty mug clinked against the bench and a little shrug rolled her shoulders, though the glisten in the rims of her eyes caught the light and gave her away. She'd always had a little trouble with kindness given how very little she was shown it. "Apparently you're the only person willing to. The one person in existence who actually appears to like me and I go and murder him; what does that say?"

He was physically aching, but it wasn't her loneliness that pained him; it was the knowing that he had spent centuries with her, yet had utterly failed to discover it. "It says you're very, very good at hard-to-get."

Making her laugh was his joy. "And now you're wrapping me up in pyjamas and giving me tea… which says you're really rather soft."

He recognised the look in her eyes as they swept over him, slightly narrowed in concentration, and wondered what conclusions she was coming to in her head. He remembered all too well the days of deductions, seeking her out of the fires in the corners of the Universe where she liked to cause trouble, so he could orbit around her and attempt to work out just what it was that was fuelling this insatiable need to do so.

They were destined, by design, to be drawn to each other. What with River's Time Lord genetics he'd always assumed she'd felt the same intangible force dragging them together due to their intertwined timelines as he had, even in his early days; it was nice to see it so fresh in her, rather than blended into the unwavering and fierce love that she had always shown him.

"You have them too, don't you? Bad dreams," she asked softly, smiling at his blink of surprise. "No-one ever understands things like this unless they know how it feels. Thing is, people who've been abducted by aliens are rather hard to come by."

She'd been the only person in existence to whom he'd revealed many, many things; the night terrors were just one. He hadn't had much choice in it, just as she hadn't tonight; but when gripped in the panic and dizzying fear she had appeared like a guarding spectre, holding him close and soothing him like only she ever could.

"When I sleep," he admitted. "Which I try not to make a regular thing of."

"Same here. I wish I could stop them," River sighed. "I'd like to know what having a decent night's sleep feels like."

"With the life you've had so far, it's perfectly understandable," he settled for, keeping the knowledge that with his companionship and her bravery they would lessen over time locked in his head, no matter how desperately he wanted to release such information.

River was shockingly quiet; it was almost endearing, seeing her something less than ridiculously secure. Then again, it wasn't strictly the first time.

_If you ever loved me-_

He threw his concentration into listening intently to the rise and fall of her voice, violently pushing the memory away before it consumed him and darkness spread like a plague across the fabric of his mind.

"After the nightmares… I never know where I am when I wake up," River confessed, drawing one of her pyjama shirt buttons between her fingers and gazing down at it self-consciously. "And in those moments… I can feel everything they put in my head, everything they did, as if it's taking over me and there's nothing I can do to stop it." Her throat bobbed as she swallowed, pushing the mug around the table distractedly. "I've been conditioned my whole life, and I can't just make it go away," she murmured. "What if I hurt you?"

He shook his head firmly. "You won't hurt me."

"How do you know?"

"I just do."

River looked up at him, and he found himself giving her a smile that was far too warm to be at peace with his current incarnation. He sort of regretted it when something changed in his not-yet-wife's countenance. "Listen, um…" She curled up in her chair, linking her fingers together awkwardly as he watched something within her shut down. "The thing is… I decided a long time ago- since I found out that I have a tendency to cause nothing but pain to the people I care about- that relationships are sort of a… no-go, for me."

The words hit him with a dull thud. Swallowing back his surprise that this was actually happening- the woman who had claimed him and named him the love of her life was _rejecting_ him- he opened his mouth but pressed it promptly shut again on realising that there was very little he could say to that apart from a drawn out, "…Ok," that came just long enough after her words to make things awkward.

Not sure whether to be smug that she was so incredibly wrong or to panic that she might be so incredibly right- what if this encounter had unwritten everything?- he gawped at her helplessly as he tried to determine which way to react without giving the game away when her eyes flitted up to his. "I assume that's probably not what you had in mind anyway- I can't imagine why someone like you would want much to do with someone like me… being a legendary time-travelling god must introduce you to so many incredible people."

He cleared his throat, shuddering a little at the term she had far too often honoured him with. He sort of wished that she was simply too young to realise her mistake, but even in her Professor days she'd labelled him as a deity, _her_ deity; he'd never understood that.

"It doesn't mean I'm entitled to like them."

Her giggle surprised him, given that his generally unpleasant grumbles were usually met with anything but- solid disapproval from Clara, to say the least. Evidently his face must have betrayed him and showed his joy, for a moment later River was looking unsettled once again. "See, that's what worries me."

"What worries you?"

"That look you keep giving me. I've only ever seen it on Rory's face when he looks at my mother. You were the same in Berlin." Her voice picked up speed as she commenced a rambling justification. After years of receiving a sultry wink or one-word catchphrase by way of explanation for anything and everything, it was almost too much. "No-one is supposed to look at me that way, and frankly, no-one should, because believe me… I'll only disappoint you." She smiled wanly. "There's a reason why my only two friends in the Universe are my parents."

He looked away, partly out of pain that the mention brought and largely because he was burning to tell her that there would come a day when no-one would ever believe that she'd had a friendless childhood. There would come a day when she'd be cherished, worshipped, even, by entire civilisations for being their saviour. Hating the rules he had enforced that meant he couldn't divulge such information, he let her carry on declining him.

"I know I go on with the whole flirting thing, and you seem… well, good enough to give up all my lives for. I know that must have seemed like a sort of- giant neon signal, but… the truth is, I- I didn't want to responsible for disappointing Amy and Rory… again. They said you were worth it, so I did it for them. And, really, I'd always been led to believe that I'd be murdering someone evil; I didn't want to be responsible for ridding the Universe of a good man."

"That's because you're a good woman," he said so quietly that it was almost to himself. "It's about time someone told you that. What they filled your head with, what they made you believe about yourself; none of it's true."

"I might believe that one day. Right now, I don't know who I'm supposed to be. Truth be told, the whole River Song thing did make me a little curious." She spoke it as if it was the name of a stranger, and with the way she glanced at him he assumed he was in the same category. "The way you kept saying that name as if… but, um, whatever that meant, whatever _she_ means- _I_ mean, to you, or…" She took another deep breath, selecting her words carefully as if trying to let him down gently. "What you whispered in my ear… I understand if you were just trying to save your own skin, it's what I would have done, but- it _was_ a lie, wasn't it?" She rolled her eyes to the ceiling before he could retort. "Right. Spoilers."

It was amazing how one evening could have opened his eyes so much to exactly what she was; seeing the way her own word stuck on her tongue uncomfortably was very telling. She'd always been amazing to him, flourishing effortlessly from a Pond into River because she knew it was what she was destined to do. He hadn't given much thought to how difficult that must have been, despite the constant expectation to be the Universe's Doctor that should really have evoked empathy.

"Anyway, I don't know what you're expecting of me, or of this woman I'm supposed to become, but honestly, I… I'm far better off alone. So."

Now that he saw her fear, her reluctance approaching dread and most of all her absolute refusal to be drawn into falling for him, she was all the more wonderful. The smile he gave wasn't out of complacency; it was out of the realisation that he was going to have to work to gain the love of the River he knew so well, as he rightly should have to for the devotion of such a loving and beautiful spirit. It had always taken him aback slightly, seeing such ferocious love in her in the place of hate that had been wired into her DNA.

He had always wondered what it was that had made her fall for him; years on, in the dark and lonely days at Trenzalore, he had mapped out their lives from the order in which she'd lived them. It had taken days, but as his memory was fraying with his body he had felt a desperate need to feel that connection again, the sort that made him believe love was a tangible spark that kept the fiery life in each living being burning. Once he had, he had observed- or at least believed to be true at the time- that their wedding, the day she'd declared that her love for him was powerful enough to outstay the entire Universe, was directly after the day that she had literally murdered him in their encounters.

Even he wasn't conceited enough to believe that she had restored him to life because she'd fallen in love with him in the space of thirty two minutes, no. Since all he knew about the stretch of time between was that she'd become an archaeologist, he had assumed in all his naivety and arrogance that she'd simply fallen in love with the accounts of him and the imprint he'd made in the fabric of the Universe so commonly recited in books. He'd been involved in more than enough lives and got caught up in the web of far too many historical events to earn his place in countless novellas.

Of course, now it was entirely possible that she had fallen for him due to meetings that he hadn't yet lived; though it was utterly flabbergasting to him what anyone in their right mind would see in him without the boyish façade. She certainly didn't seem to care for it so far; at least not in the way she would grow to.

He knew she would change her mind, of course. But it didn't make it any less thrilling, the knowledge that he'd have to pursue his wife of a millennium to ensure she became just that. He fell far short of patience in this body, and he didn't rightly care whether he was loved or hated- in fact, the latter was preferable. But, if there was going to be one person whose affections he wouldn't mind devoting his time to gain, it was always River.

He shrugged. "If that's what you want. Don't expect me to stop protecting you."

"Protecting me through pyjamas and tea?"

"What better way is there?" It was said with deadpan sincerity, but he looked up to find amusement sparkling in River's eyes. "What are you smiling at?"

"You're just so different to everything they taught me about you."

He shook his head, dancing his fingers along the table coyly. "You shouldn't believe hearsay."

"It's a bit strange, all of this," she mused suddenly, wiggling in her chair. "Well, to me; it's very… cosy. I feel as if I know you. Not from the Silence pouring poison about you into my head," she muttered defiantly. There was always that; a blatant refusal to allow the monsters that had plagued her childhood to own any part of her. "But I think it was Amy. She was _obsessed_ with you, do you know that? Adored you, right from when she was little. Maybe that's why it really doesn't feel like this is the second time we've met."

"The second time _you've_ met _me_," he reminded her.

"And then there's that. Explains why you're so forward."

"Excuse me?"

"Well if you'd only done Berlin too, I doubt you'd be inviting me in your little box and letting me sleep in your bed."

"I wouldn't be so sure; it was quite an eventful first date."

"Quite eventful is an understatement, don't you think? And it wasn't a date."

"If you say so."

"It wasn't. It was a murder mission."

"Not a very successful one."

"More's the pity," she grinned wickedly.

"Well. There's time yet. I've heard I test people's patience."

"Really? Can't _imagine_ why."

Day one: already mocking him. Some things never changed.

* * *

_**Thank you all so very much for the support! (I say that a lot, don't I?) I love knowing your thoughts. Hope you enjoyed this chapter. x**_


	6. Memoirs of a Madman

**Hello!**

**This chapter explores how despite having said goodbye to her ghost, River still haunts the Doctor and as time passes he begins to hope for another encounter after running into her fresh from Berlin. Their past is also delved into, showing the Eleventh Doctor's emotional turmoil over having to soon face losing his wife. **

***Disclaimer: there are references and dialogue from previous Who episodes (Series four, five, seven and eight), and I do not own the original quotes from these which are cited in the chapter. A warning for very minor spoilers for episodes five, six and seven of the current series, for those who haven't yet seen it.**

**I sincerely hope you enjoy it!**

* * *

He clung to that last encounter more than he probably should have allowed himself to.

"I hope I'll see you again."

"Oh, you will. But not always looking like this."

"So you'll be younger again? And you won't have done all of this… that's going to be weird."

"You'll get used to it, believe me. Be sure not to give anything away."

"Oh… that can be dangerous, can't it? Paradoxes and… things like that." She had nodded slowly; endearing confusion on her face as something he'd so rarely had the privilege of seeing. "Well, I'm sure I'll manage. I'll have you know I'm rather good at keeping secrets. And I knew to expect this in Berlin… you knew so much about me, even then. You knew everything I'll become…"

"Spoilers," he'd reminded her with a smile. He enjoyed using that word far too much for his own good.

She'd stopped in the Tardis doorway, hair swishing vivaciously as she turned to him in confusion. "How will I find you? How am I ever supposed to track you down, when you travel through the whole of time and space?"

He'd drawn the brand new diary from his pocket and pressed it into her hands. "There is a certain profession you can enter into that would put you at an advantage there."

He'd left the rest to her; she was more than capable. Now she was out there in time, in his past and perhaps his future, learning to become herself. And he was left floating between the stars, remembering and ever so slightly hoping.

* * *

He accidentally-on-purpose overheard Clara telling Danny.

"The Doctor's got a _wife_?"

"Yes."

"_The_ Doctor? As in, the same grumpy- insane, old alien Doctor?"

"...Yeah."

"I got the impression that he was a bit of a loner."

"He is- was. Well. It's a long story, and- complicated, but- she was dead. Technically, uh, still is. They meet in the wrong order, you know, time travel and stuff."

"What's she like? Is she as mad as him?"

"Oh yeah, completely bonkers. But she's lovely. You should meet her, actually; I think you'd get along. Can't be worse than when you met the Doctor, anyway."

"What's she called?"

"Uhm. River Song."

"_River. Song_? Are you joking?"

"She's the Doctor's wife; were you really expecting her to have a normal name?"

Later on, she'd asked what the hell he was grinning at. By a distant miracle, enveloped as it was in the darkness of his soul, the hope began to grow.

And then he remembered.

* * *

_A terrible dream, composed of the past and soon to be reality._

_~ **Spoilers**_

_**Spoilers**_

_**Hush now**_

_**Spoilers**_

_**Spoilers**_

_**Spoilers**_

_Stop it_

_Stop it._

**_You and me_**

_Stop-_

**_Time and Space_**

_-It-_

**_You watch us run_**

_Please stop this get this out _

_Of your head she's here she isn't dead you can find a way_

**_Not those times_**

_You're going to change this you have to you can't be without her_

_You will turn to dust_

_Everything will_

_Change this rewrite it rewrite everything if it means she will be by your side_

**_Not one line_**

_You could save her. Dare you to save her_

**_Don't you dare_**

_Have to try. Have to do something_

**_There's nothing you can do_**

_Not_

_Acceptable._

_Hoper of far flung hopes. Dreamer of impossible dreams. Was. _

**_You turned up on my doorstep_**

**_With a new haircut and a suit_**

_No. I'm not ready_

**_The towers sang and you cried_**

_River_

_Oh, River._

**_Hello Sweetie_**

_Not yet._

_Just this once_

_Let me make a bargain_

_My life for hers_

_Anyone's life for hers_

_The whole Universe for her _

_Please_

_You know it doesn't work like that you sentimental idiot she's dead because of you_

_She's still here_

_Not for long._

**_When one's in love_**

**_With an ageless God_**

**_Who insists on the face_**

**_Of a twelve-year-old_**

**_One does one's best_**

**_To hide the damage_**

_I can never find the words_

_She trusted, trusts me_

_And I killed, am going to kill her_

_I led her, will lead her by the hand to her death just like I_

_Always_

_Do. ~_

_The Doctor awakes with a start from rare yet troubled sleep and quickly scrubs the tears away from his face, left trembling from the broken fragments of memories more terrifying than nightmares that find him in slumber._

_He is growing tired of this; the continuous battle that takes place constantly inside his head every time sleep eventually finds him like plagues find civilisations._

_River._

_River._

_She asked it yesterday, before she left. Again. She practically insisted on it. And not only is he fast running out of excuses not to go, but he is so very tired of lying to her._

_She keeps telling him that it will be good for him, for them. He needs to get out, to move on, she says, insists that a trip to somewhere as beautiful as the Singing Towers will work wonders for him and she doesn't understand-_

_The screaming of his own thoughts makes his ears ring day after miserable day. Even awake, he could never push thoughts of Darillium away and now it's bloody impossible because it's here, never again to be postponed or looked upon with dread as a far-off event. Very, very soon now, it will be a memory._

_He can't even begin to come to terms with that. Not so soon after Manhattan, the day that marked the end of all hope he used to cling to. He almost laughs out loud out of bitterness towards his own thoughts. So soon after. It's hardly soon. It's been months, maybe even years- he doesn't keep count, not now. All he knows is that impossible River, his wife, flickers effervescently in and out of his broken time. But not for much longer. No longer._

_He panics, battling against his own mutilated mind. He has a right to that; insanity is long overdue._

_She has to die. That's fixed._

_But he doesn't have to say goodbye._

_He could just leave her. It would be easy enough, just to never go back for her. It would kill him, yes, but compared to having to face Darillium it would be a piece of cake. Selfish, yes, but he's an awful man. Manhattan had showed him that. It probably wouldn't even surprise her._

_She's all he has left. How could he possibly leave her?_

_She's going to die anyway._

_He needs her._

_She would be better off without him. They all would._

_But she wouldn't. Because either way the Library still looms and it will come, one day in the horribly near future for the Professor who he dropped off yesterday with a kiss and a promise, the promise that he would no longer postpone that oh so wonderful trip she'd been insisting upon._

_Every day since Manhattan the same process flickers through his head, switching back and forth until he aches. Telling himself that he's going to drop her off and never come back, because he can't do it anymore, he can't pretend that every day isn't just a deferral of sending her to her death._

_But every day, when he looks into those brilliant, fiery eyes of hers, he can't quite bring himself to do it. He feels foolish, for being led so easily, for being so- human. It's so unlike him. But this is his River Song. River Song has always been the exception to everything. Had._

_Doesn't matter anyway. Whatever he feels about what is now today, nothing in this Universe or the next is going to change it. And it's damn well unfair._

_He turns up that day. Because he promised. He turns up on her doorstep with a new haircut and a suit._

_He shivers. He'll spend a long time shivering, taking shelter among the rainclouds of Earth, as he's already resolved to do after the Towers sing their final song. He'll shiver, because River will not be there to keep him warm. Never again._

* * *

The memories, though still painful, did little to deter him. At first it rendered him wary, loath to disturb what had been a life broken yet perfect in its own way.

But along with the worst of memories came the best of ones, nostalgic flickers of mad days spent leading their merry dance across time. And he would allow embedded arrogance to momentarily eclipse him.

Why?

_Why _did things have to be the way they were? He was a Time Lord. A _lord _of actual _time_. Nothing and no-one was to dictate to him when he was allowed to see his wife.

Then his determined hands would grip the console, ready to pull the handbrake and hurtle across the stars to find her when-

_Doctor, please tell me you know who I am_

_This means you've always known how I was going to die_

_My time_

_Time to come to the Library_

_How are you even doing that? I'm not really here_

_If you ever loved me_

_Say it like you're going to come back_

_Goodbye, sweetie._

-all at once, a crescendo screaming in his head that would leave him shaking just like the days when it was yet to come.

Admittedly, the Doctor had grown a bit uncharacteristically eager after her last visit. He had this mild infatuation with believing every second of every day that she would burst through the doors trailing smoke with a Cheshire-cat grin on her face.

Not that he would dream of telling Clara- or anyone for that matter- but there may have been a list residing in his jacket pocket that he had spent several days working on. The paper had creased under the time and effort it bore, crammed full to the corners of scrawled names; each one a place they could go together, a place she'd love, if their timelines were to coalesce again.

Optimism. Schoolboy error.

Still, even when the list curled at the edges he kept seeing her, in every godforsaken place he ended up drifting to.

A mere bounce of wild curls out of the corner of his eye, a swish of elegant hips, a tap of crimson heels, and his mind would be off with his feet.

"Doctor! Where the hell did you wander off to?" Clara had panted, finally after god only knows how long having caught up with him in a crowded Frenko Bazaar halfway across the galaxy. He'd hastily conjured up a vague lie, eyes dropping with ill-concealed disappointment from the woman with the right manic hair but, when she'd eventually turned, the wrong face.

* * *

He was a slave to his own memoirs.

"Doctor, we're going to crash if you don't _do _something! Doesn't it have some sort of, I don't know, stabilisers?!"

_Use the stabilisers!_

"No!"

"Are you lying? Oh my god, you are! Doctor!"

_The blue switches!_

"DOCTOR!"

"They're BORING!"

_Yes, they're blue! They're the blue stabilisers!_

"Shut up, shut, shut, shut up!"

"What?"

"Nothing!"

It happened on a shockingly regular basis; though to be fair, it hadn't just started since the night of tea and bad dreams. At first, once he'd shaken off the hopeful possibility that her data ghost still lingered to whisper to him every now and then, he believed that he had finally gone certifiably insane. But when time crawled on and he could still _hear_ her thoughts in his head-

_She's on a date, my love. Let her grow up. They all have to one day._

_If I had a vault in that bank, I'd keep you in it._

_Sweetie, you're far too much of an exhibitionist to go undercover._

_You can't leave her on the moon, you stupid man!_

_-_he drew the conclusion that this regeneration's conscience had acquired quite a voice, and one unquestionably familiar at that.

Memories came flickering through, too, and thinking about her came with consequences that he couldn't quite control.

"River and I, we had this big fight..."

_I should damn well hope you're sorry. What's that god awful smell? It's like wet fur. You're not coming near me until you've had a bath._

"Do you want to see the Thames frozen over?"

_Are you sure about this? Ice skating with your coordination skills?_

"Oh, those frost fairs!"

_Sweetie… is that Stevie Wonder? _

The problem was he'd been enticed into the concept that he may have been able to make things better. He'd believed that maybe, just maybe, seeing her at her start was the beginning of a blessed second chance, a chance to do things as properly as he could afford to given their unsynchronised lives.

His mind did dangerous things. When alone he developed a rather morbid habit of calculating for how many days _she_ must have been alone- at Luna, in Stormcage, and stuck wandering faraway planets she'd chosen at random out of sheer boredom- and familiar guilt would curdle in his stomach. He'd dream up the things they could have done, the wonderful things he could have shown her instead of leaving her on her own for months on end, as he knew he had only by memories of her passing comments.

He could never quite let it go; which was probably just as well, given what one lonely evening in the near future turned into.

* * *

**And that one lonely evening in the near future will be coming soon! If you'd be kind enough to let me know what you thought of this chapter, your feedback means the world x**


	7. And the Dance Begins

**The (twelfth) Doctor's second encounter with his wife tells him that she is far from lost. Those who were enjoying young River, never fear! Later chapters will feature the Doctor encountering his wife early in her timestream. Timey wimey!**

**I'd like to take this opportunity to say how incredibly grateful I am to all ONE HUNDRED AND FOUR of you lot now for reading this; your support makes it all so enjoyable and you're just a wonderful bunch. THANK YOU.**

**I hope you enjoy this.**

* * *

"Sorry. I'm having dinner with Danny."

"You're _what_?" the Doctor yelled down the phone, deciding to ignore that he could _hear_ his friend roll her eyes. "You're giving up what could be an amazing, life-changing adventure to have chips with your boyfriend? Clara, what happened to you? Did you lose your sanity somewhere? I've heard that does happen in relationships-"

"Doctor." He heard her sigh, and an inaudible mutter in the background.

"Is that Danny? Look…" He took a deep breath, wincing at his own words. "Bring him along, if you really must. I suppose I can accommodate him, though to be honest he's only going to get in the way-"

"We're having _dinner_, Doctor," she said slowly, as if he didn't speak her language.

He spluttered on, slightly insulted and very exasperated. Humans. Didn't they have any sense of priority? The Universe was waiting at her fingertips! "Well- you could have dinner out here! There's a lovely little restaurant in the Shadoya Galaxy with a glass floor, and the view is-"

"We're fine with Earth, thanks."

His shoulders sagged. "What am I supposed to do with my evening?"

"You're inventive. I'm sure you'll find something. Ok? See you when I see you. Got to go."

The line went dead. Grumbling mild curses at it, he placed it back on the hook and ambled around the controls without purpose, failing to notice in his sulky state that the rotor had ground to a halt.

Possible solitary trips ambled through his head with all the enthusiasm of Clara when he brought her to analyse types of rock. Of the entire Cosmos, he could think of nowhere that bore enough value to visit without having the privilege of seeing it new through someone else's eyes. The Universe was an exceedingly dark place without someone to share it with.

The numbing peace was shattered before he could process it. The Doctor wheeled around at the sound of the doors bursting open in dramatic fashion, bristling with instinctive defence and resenting whatever had brought about the sudden interlude in what had been a perfectly good sulk. "What in the name of _sanity_…" he hissed under his breath, scowling at the silhouette shining through the smoke that cloaked it.

It turned out, as a matter of fact, to be nothing within the bounds of sanity at all. The irritated mutter was all that could pass his throat before his eyes drank in the swish of hips, the thunder of heels and the impossible bounce of hair, and it tightened with pleasurable discomfort as if swallowing barbed wire and honey. In strolled his wife, clicking her fingers to snap the doors shut behind her as she talked.

"What a _day_!" The words turned his bones into fizzing livewires. The Doctor watched her as if trapped in a web as River spun around him. "Gosh, those Halitosis Mushrooms certainly know how to talk! But they do make a good stew. Don't worry - extractor fans on! - don't worry, I brushed my teeth. The weather was divine on Hondran; managed to get myself a nice tan. Came across a few Untra; I was curious as to what they did with all those extra arms… needless to say that question didn't go down well. Long story short, those engravings in the hills- _fascinating_- gave me some juicy material for my next dissertation. Fingers crossed; if this one's good enough, perhaps I'll be an inch closer to earning my pardon. At the very least I'll shave off a couple of my life sentences- only eleven hundred and forty seven to go!"

She finished her soliloquy with a radiant smile that hit his skin like the warmth of the sun, more vibrant, more _real_ than he had ever remembered her to be.

"River," he breathed, fixated on her as she skipped around the rotor merrily and flicked at levers with effortless grace.

It had been a while since she had last turned up, fresh from Berlin; roughly eight months, going by Clara's ageing. It had certainly been long enough for him to quietly accept that perhaps the encounter had been a one-off.

"Sweetie," she chirped back, mistaking his utterance of awe for a greeting. "Ok! What's the plan, then? Business, pleasure, danger, fun? Although it's all one and the same with us, isn't it?"

She threw her head up to grin at him, making her springy curls bob about her shoulders.

He shook his head confusedly, wringing his hands because it was all he could do when a little bit lost in an enthralled stupor. "Plan?"

"Yes, plan." She swivelled the monitor around to examine it, smiling to herself as the Tardis hummed under her touch. "Was it ambitious of me to assume that you had one? Is this going to be another spontaneous date that ends in near death? Not that I mind."

It had been a long while since someone had been able to rival his volume of speech; River had been one of the only people capable of such a thing. In spite of the fact that she was talking faster than he'd remembered her ever doing- _rambling_, even- with an effervescent bounce in her voice that he swore he hadn't noticed in all the years before. It threw him off enough for her to notice.

"You look a little startled, dear," she mused. Her heels tapped out a rhythm on the floor as she closed the distance between them without any sort of warning- which he really felt he could have done with- to inspect him. "Wait a second. Are you _new_?"

"Relatively," he answered vaguely, not wanting to see that disappointment on her face that he always saw set in- despite her attempts to conceal it- whenever he wasn't as far along in their lives as she wanted him to be. It may have been a very long time since having the privilege of encountering this River, _his_ River, but he had never for an instant forgotten that expression.

"Ah," she whispered pensively, clearly deducing something he was unaware of. "So is this the first time you've seen me through these eyes?" she asked him, tracing the crinkled skin under his eyes with a light finger.

They were so close now that he could see each particle of light playing with the flashes of colour in her eyes, the eyes that at this beautiful point in her timeline shone with so much life and love; love for him. He'd forgotten how that felt. "Second."

"Oh." He thought he saw her relax at that, before curiosity overcame her. Her eyes narrowed into that playful interrogation mode she was so skilled at. "When was the first? Or am I still to expect that privilege?"

He loved River for not giving away how much the mere thought pained her. "Afraid not. That was when you found me after Berlin."

He watched her eyes flicker as she rewound the memory in her head and surprise seeped into her features. "Really? Well. You did a good job of hiding that."

"I always do."

His wife- his _wife_, the word was exhilaratingly strange when freshly rewoven into the fabric of his mind- hummed, giving him that flicker of a smile again as if knowing what it did to him and relishing in it. "Berlin was the first time I saw this you, too…" she realised. "Funny. It doesn't usually happen like that." A beautiful full grin broke across her face. "We shared a first, sweetie; I'd say that gives us reason to celebrate, wouldn't you?"

"What do you have in mind?"

He watched her eyes trail across him before they snapped back up, gleaming devilishly. "Dancing!"

He scoffed dramatically, shaking her head as if he could actually ever hope to persuade her out of one of her magnificently bizarre date ideas. "No, no, no. _No_. I don't dance."

"No," she retorted, lacing her warm fingers through his and pulling him to the controls. He relented limply, still at odds with this body as to how to react with such close contact. Merely being in the same room as the very woman with whom he had shared many nights was enough to make him feel his pulses in his fingertips. "The old you didn't dance. Well, you were all elbows and knees back then, weren't you? The amount of times I had to apologise on behalf of your flailing limbs," she smirked. "But _now_, Doctor… you've got quite the moves." She chuckled, pressing a kiss to his cheek and wiping the wary look from his face in the process. "Trust me?"

"Do I have a choice?" he asked, deadpan voice concealing his fluttering hearts. He concentrated on keeping his hands stuck to his sides as if it was something his lives depended upon, adamant that this body did not, did _not_, engage in… _canoodling_, of any kind. Even if his wife was easily close enough for his hands to reach around her hips, and yes, even if she was smiling at him like he was the centre of the Cosmos, and it did not make any difference whatsoever that her dress was the same shade as her painted lips or that her hair could have pulled meteorites out of orbit and was just _asking_ to have a pair of hands run through it. No. Difference. At. All.

"Of course not."

He blinked, wondering how she could possibly be responding to the self-convincing going on in his head before realising with admitted relief that she was answering his original question. Apparently, the very brief period in which their roles had been reversed was most certainly over; not that he minded. That being said his vision bore a surreal haze at the edges with the sensation of floating through a dream. He was slightly afraid to take his eyes off her, genuinely believing that there was a good chance that perhaps he'd inhaled a speck of psychic pollen and it was only a matter of time until he would wake up, alone. It wouldn't have been the first time.

He hadn't exactly missed her for that reason, because in some form or another she'd been there. Not to anyone else, or anyone possessing a scrap of sanity, at least. He was rather certain that Clara had started to worry, what with the amount of times she had wandered in to discover him having an intense conversation with thin air.

It had been easier that way, in all candour. It was always far more simple to converse with a figment of the imagination than the living, breathing, _shining_ being currently gracing around the console at effortless speed.

"How's Clara?" He must have rolled his eyes at that, because River looked up and gave him a reprimanding tut. "Oh dear; have you two fallen out again? What did you do this time?"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa! I'll have you know I didn't do anything, thank you very much!"

"Hmm; when have I heard _that_ before?" He was about to retaliate when her chuckle threw him off. Had he even heard her laugh like that before?

It wasn't the usual controlled, sultry laugh that he couldn't have possibly forgotten for what it had done to him. It seemed far less measured; as a matter of fact, everything about her did.

She nudged him out of the way with her hip to fiddle with the controls. "Be nice to her, sweetie. She's very good. And I doubt anyone else would put up with you."

River's comment was ignored in favour of more important things at hand. There was something different in her that he couldn't quite place; she was still unquestionably the woman he'd fallen for, with the playfully withering comments, the heels and the hair and the everything- especially the everything. But there was something new. Something that wasn't part of the smokescreen; something wonderful.

"Oh, honey, I do believe you've got that face on again!"

His eyebrows sprang up his forehead at her cry. She was watching him intently, looking far too amused. "I'm sorry, what face?"

"The, 'Dear God, My Wife is _Fabulous_,' face."

"This is my normal face," he told her with exasperated confusion, before the memory came pinging back to him as the words left her lips.

"It certainly is."

He was compelled to smile; rare, in this body. Damned woman, breaking all his new rules. Making him _smile_ and everything.

"When are you?" he decided to ask, as a means of making it seem as if his staring at her for what was frankly an embarrassing length of time was actually heading somewhere.

Her eyes flickered away from his as she considered the question, allowing him to breathe again. "I've just done- well, spoilers. Let's see…"

He restrained himself from physically leaping into the air at hearing the word that indicated times yet to come, as she pulled that gorgeous little blue book from her pocket and flicked through it with the deftness of an expert.

"Oh, yes! Crash of the Byzantium wasn't long ago for me. I know you've done that."

Still relatively young, then; old enough to know him inside out, of course, but not yet a Professor. Old relief washed over him, though it was now irrational; the night of the Singing Towers he'd for so long dreaded was now a distant memory. And here she was.

He remembered telling her father about miracles, once. If only their Ponds could see them now.

The Doctor's hands joined River's at the controls, firing life into the rotor. "Well then, Doctor Song. Let's dance."


End file.
